A Fever You Can't Sweat Out
by RaeynnBeau
Summary: A re-imagining of the events of Birth by Sleep. Begs the question; would it really have mattered if things had happened differently. Would anything have changed? Vanitas PoV. Rated K for violence as well as physical and psychological abuse.


**A/N****:** Just a reimagining of the events in Birth by Sleep to the tune of Panic at the Disco. 13 chapters planned, and warning; I can tend to be slow at posting. Sorry in advance; I'll try for once a month or so but no promises.

**Chapter 1: Introduction**

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we proudly present a picturesque score of passing fantasy." ~_Panic! At the Disco

"Wh …" the croak of the voice was painful to listen to as it spoke – or rather, tried to. "What …?" The barest movement as he tried to sit up, and his body immediately convulsed in sudden, sheer _agony_. It was so poignant and intense that all he could do was gasp in response, curling up and clutching at himself like it would somehow stop this horrible stabbing _ache_ that was consuming him.

Quick breaths accompanied the choked, near-sobs that managed to escape as the body shook, and the scream that was issued started off weak and pathetic, but eventually became stronger. It cut off into harsh pants; he couldn't see … he had no idea what was going on; where was he? What had happened? Something had happened.

He couldn't remember through this _throbbing_.

He could hardly think.

"Ah; so you _are_ awake," he could barely hear the raspy voice behind him that spoke. "Excellent." There was nothing _excellent_ about any of this. Another convulsion – a sharp contraction of the muscles in his abdomen as he tried to vomit, though there was nothing to rid himself of – and he struggled to turn towards the sound, pushing himself up with his tremoring arms. He fumbled, and every motion felt like fire in his nerve endings.

"What's … going on …?" he managed to choke out, body still shaking and shivering violently. "Aaahh …" his arms gave out from under him, sending him to the floor – hard. But there was something. He didn't hit the ground entirely; there was something under his arm and … That arm. That arm; it didn't hurt as much. There was still pain, but it wasn't unbearable. That difference; he'd take _anything_. As his form jolted, he managed to grab onto whatever it was, and pull it closer to himself. The hurting slowly started to ebb, so that eventually, he slowly opened his eyes, realizing for the first time that they had been closed.

What he saw was … himself. Or at least, he thought it was himself; a strange, foggy version of himself, painted red. But, how could that be him …? He was holding it. That didn't make sense … And the grief that still pulsed like blood in his veins didn't make it any easier for him to understand what was going on. That was … That was his body. But how …?

Hazy, disoriented red eyes looked down at himself instead of the boy he was holding. He didn't understand … If that was him then …

"… … Who am I?" and from the voice he'd heard before, he received his answer.

"Your name is … … Vanitas."

* * *

><p>Red eyes narrowed darkly, looking at the body that was across the room. He wanted it; wanted it back – and at the same time, he didn't want it. He didn't <em>need<em> it. He was his own person, no matter how he'd come to be. He wasn't Ventus. He was Vanitas. And he was strong enough to go without being near that body.

Vanitas had no idea how long he'd been where he was; Master Xehanort wasn't much for keeping a calendar on the wall. Not that there were many walls in this dead wasteland. And no matter how long it had been … He couldn't go without stopping to look at the body that used to be his. The thought had occurred to him many times that he could just get rid of it; it was going to die soon anyway, he was sure. It had taken it a while, or so it seemed to Vanitas, but the heart inside of it became weaker and more frail at each passing second. It wouldn't be difficult to kill end it; in fact, it would be far too easy…

Irritation at himself for this petty weakness flared up in him; he didn't _need_ this. He was fine on his own – why should he care at all about that body? Whether it lived or died didn't matter to him. There was nothing for him to want from it … Vanitas' thoughts were cut short when he heard something that made him ball his fist, and become further irritated.

Those _creatures_.

He didn't need to glance down by his feet to see the sharp, pointed face of the little blue monsters that were clamoring around him, jumping back and forth. And he certainly didn't need to look as he struck them down with a quick, practiced hand, his weapon appearing in a crackle of black energy and disappearing the moment the deed was done. Gritting his teeth against the pain from killing those little things, he took a breath, and realized he was looking towards the body again.

The anger flared up inside of him before he could stop it, and with it came more monsters. Different faces, but all the same things.

Striking them down with another yell, more appeared even through the sharp discomfort that he felt as each one died, that aching hurt spurring on more anger, making _more _of them for him to destroy.

"Can't you leave the boy alone?" Vanitas couldn't help the small gasp as suddenly all of the monsters that had appeared were destroyed at once, and the agony took his breath away as he fell against the wall heavily. "He's not long for this world, or any." Master Xehanort strode past him, hands behind his back as he normally walked. He approached the body, and Vanitas felt his irritation try and flare up again … But that pain in his chest kept it at bay for the moment, in the same way it kept his ability to breathe at bay.

"You're right; he won't last much longer if you leave him here …" Vanitas' hand curled at his side in a fist. "I can't promise I won't get rid of him myself. I … want to get rid of him." The words were undoubtedly sincere, and he gnashed his teeth slightly in conviction. _Why shouldn't he hurt like I do …? _There was a long pause before anything happened, and for a moment he almost was afraid he'd said something wrong and was going to be punished for it.

"Fear not; I will relieve you of your torment." The frown was evident in Master Xehanort's voice, but he didn't strike out at the boy, he only moved closer to the body in the room. Vanitas could only watch as the old man picked up the body, putting an arm around it and opening a portal.

"Wait – where are you going?" the question was met with a sudden concussive force that drove the boy's body back against the wall, his head snapping backwards and hitting the partition behind him hard.

"It is none of your concern. Go back to your training." Making himself stand, rather than show weakness and fall to one knee, he said nothing. He simply watched as Master Xehanort left with his body – no. It wasn't his body. He didn't need it. He didn't need _anything_; he was strong enough on his own.

Staggering slightly, he walked out into the open, rocky fields of the wasteland that was the closest thing he had to a home, he summoned his keyblade, and went to the work that Xehanort commanded of him. He had nothing else to do, and the further he was from that body … Though he would never admit it, the more painful it was. He had gotten used to it over time, staying away from it for longer and longer durations, and it was to the point now that it was a normal, dull ache he felt – hardly worth his notice. Except that now that the body had been taken, it was more pronounced.

He began doing repetitive motions, casting magic – whatever he could to prepare for whatever fight he had always been preparing for; the fight he had been born for, even if he didn't know what it was. Thurst, dodge, stab, jump… Parry, block, stab, Lightning … Teleport, a pillar of ice, stab, parry block, rush, _thrust_. Teleport, lightning, stab-

Very suddenly, his body went rigid, and all he could do was let out a tiny gasp.

It felt like he had been stabbed in the heart with a cold, sharp knife, and he couldn't move … Until he collapsed on the ground. Suddenly it was cold; cold and dark and it felt like he was almost being _consumed_. A small noise escaped him, but he hardly heard it. What he did hear was a soft voice … No. No he didn't hear it. It was like … he felt it. Where this sharp stabbing in his chest was.

"Hey, where am I?" Red eyes narrowed slightly and he tried to force his body to move, but he couldn't. He couldn't _do_ anything. _Who's there?_ The question was clipped and strained; he could barely get it out as his eyes started to close, shivering from the feeling like a syringe being stabbed directly into his heart.

"I'm a brand new heart." The little feeling responded to the question as if he had asked it. _But this is – why are you in my heart? _Was this voice in his heart …? Had he asked that question? He didn't know; he was just in so much pain …

"The light brought me. I saw it shining in the distance … and followed it here." Light? He didn't have any light; that wasn't his part of the heart. He was only the darkness. Darkness that he realized he could feel crawling up his skin, trying to eat him. Strange though – he wasn't afraid because … Because he could see a light. He could _feel_ a light; like the one that he could feel when he had held his body … Before Master Xehanort had taken it. _ Yeah, that was my light. But my heart is fractured. And now … the little I have left is slipping away._ No; no it wasn't. Vanitas was strong; even as he laid there, shivering and hurting, he would defy anyone to call him weak. He _wasn't_.

"Then you should join your heart with mine." Wait … _Huh?_ … Join what? No he was … … But that light; it was … It was warm. It felt like it was wrapping around him; protecting him … Not that he needed protection but … It was chasing away the hurt.

"Now our hearts have touched. Nothing else will slip away. And one day … you'll be strong enough to win back the part that already did." Strong enough …? But he _is_ strong … Though he could become stronger … _Right. Thanks._ He was sure he hadn't said that; even if he did feel gratitude that the pain had lessened.

"It's time to wake up now… All we need to do is … Open the door." There was a blinding light then, so much so that even though he didn't want to, he was forced to close his eyes. And, maybe he lost consciousness – or maybe he didn't. He couldn't be sure. What he did know was that when he managed to pull himself up he felt … different.

Strange; that odd red hue that had overtaken everything since he'd woken up was gone … He was seeing in color. Slowly he reached up to put a hand to his head and paused, eyes widening … Before, even more slowly, he moved that hand down.

There were … contours.

A second hand came up, and he continued touching what previously had been little better than the front of his head. Cheekbones, _eyes_ …

He had a face.

* * *

><p>A vicious scream as more of the monsters died by his hand. It hurt so much, but it didn't matter; he would cut them down. Why is <em>he<em> allowed to be free of this pain!? Shouldn't _he_ share in this agony; this never ending cycle of anguish? _He _should be alone, killing monsters that are apart of him. Another creature, then another; then four more, exploding from the lightning that rained down on them. _He _shouldn't have the original identity; _he _shouldn't even have survived … More died by his hand, each one wracking him with a jolt of hurt. But no; _he_ didn't even know Vanitas existed. Didn't even know he was missing any of his heart. More frustration, more anger – and more of those things to destroy. _He_ didn't know _anything_. And Vanitas knew _everything_. And that only made the chasm of pain and hatred and loneliness inside of him open up until it was nearly large enough to consume him.

What was the point!? Another of them disappeared as he slashed through it with his keyblade; and another. The point of any of this; pain and suffering and _affliction_. Why was he cursed to feel all of this; why did this creatures appear from him? Three, four, five, six more, and the pain continued to mount, singing through his blood in a painful, almost disgusting symphony. Why did he even exist – so that he could just be in pain for all of his existence? How was that _fair_!? None of it was …

Exhausted and starting to tremble from the ache that was so intense it felt like it was a part of his _bones_, Vanitas collapsed. He knew it was pathetic as soon as the tears started rolling down his face but he couldn't help it. Was there no end to this? Was there no way for this to just stop.

He fell down with a sharp gasp as he felt the creatures surrounding him all die in an instant; he could hardly breathe.

"You wish to be free of this terrible suffering you feel; is that right?" the voice wasn't a surprise as Vanitas laid where he was, curling up slightly, trying to coerce his lungs into functioning. "And you believe that there is no way." Eyes that were now a sharp, piercing gold closed, and he allowed his head to fall to the side in the dirt. He knew there was no way; there could never be a way.

"But there is." Those three simple words made Vanitas stop dead, breath wheezing out past his lips as best it could. There … was? There _was_ a way to be free from this agony …?

"It is called the χ-blade," the man continued as he walked closer to the boy, whose body was still trembling on the ground in the wasteland. "It is elusive; and like you, requires the joining of pure light and pure darkness. If you become the χ-blade, then your suffering will end; it is the only way for you to become one with Ventus."

Gold eyes glanced up at Master Xehanort's back where he had come to a stop next to the fallen brunet. Slowly, he pulled himself up, arms nearly giving way to his body weight as he moved. But he managed to turn and face Master Xehanort; someone that he hated dearly, and feared far more. Someone that had taken the light away from him, whether he'd wanted the man to or not … And the saddest part was he didn't even know how true that thought really was.

"What … what must I do," he asked as he shook there, on bended knee, panting for breath between the tremors of pain, "… to forge this χ-blade?"

**The End …?**


End file.
